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Gray
Your paper lips are drawn down
by gravity,
framed by fleshy etchings
of the hourglass’s olden sand.
A tongue hesitant
to murmur resentful words –
but the words are there,
in a morning cross-word puzzle
reflected in your eyes.
Regret whispers on the breeze of your sigh,
an untold story resonates in your voice’s pitch,
a pining rasps with the scrape of your bones –
and unconditional love
tickles your rusty smile –
it seeps through every embrace,
it empowers every step.
Sometimes
your lips twirl up toward heaven
and then I know you know
the joys of your life and mine.
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